Insatiable
by Harey
Summary: She wondered if it was just a harshly flirtatious game, or if he was truly sincere about it. [NephNic lovehate]


**AN: I decided I needed a fic to put some insights into the NephNic pairing (which, as far as I know, no one has yet attempted but me. O.o). I also thought it would be interesting to put it through Nicnevin's point of view, which no one else seems to have done.**

**Yay for trying new things!**

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__How did it come to this?_ Nicnevin wondered to herself as she looked into an ornately embellished mirror hanging on her wall. She looked somehow innocent, her sapphire eyes too large for her pointed, almost childish face. For once her bloodred hair was down, its length cascading straight to her mid-back. Glamoured, of course, as it was so unkempt from the braids that it would have looked ghastly without some aid. 

Why was she even bothering to pretty herself up for him? It wasn't as if he actually cared. He knew; he had seen her unglamoured before. He knew every little feature of her body, the way she knew his. He rarely glamoured himself, though. He didn't need to, really. He was a fair sight without it.

What did it matter? She tossed off her glamour with a defeated sigh and looked into the mirror again. She looked bony; harsher, yet more delicate somehow. Worn and fragile. Her hair was indeed in disarray; she looked as if she had just finished with him.

Perhaps, she thought, he would like her better this way. Perfection had always annoyed him to the highest degree, and he adored imperfections, almost to a fetish. He much preferred a marred beauty, and he would often scar his lovers for that exact reason. _Why in Hell am I trying to please him?_

In fact, she herself had a scar, but unlike most of his lovers, she had dared to deal him one in return. Hers was now a silvery-white mark on her inner thigh; she had screamed when he made it, but he had consumed the sound with a kiss.

She had slashed the side of his body, just under his ribs and above his hip. It always aroused her to see it, among all the smooth, white expanse of his skin. She remembered the way he had moaned when she cut it. Their blood had bloomed on the sheets that night with startling heat, their cries biting into the dark.

He entered, and her breath caught.

For once his hands were bare of the thorn-tipped leather gloves that usually adorned them. His fingers were long and sensual. She felt desire, hot and urgent; saw his eyes, empty in their passionless fire He pinned her to the wall with his hips, forced her willing mouth open.

They tore at each other with blank, cruel, basic need, with the intention to devour. Insatiable. She ground her hips against him slowly, sucking at his soft, wet mouth. His skillful hands slipped down her neck, over her shoulders, to unlace her corset swiftly. He groaned softly as she broke off and licked down his chin and neck, settling to lap helplessly at the hollow of his throat.

He forced her head back, kissed her mouth again, corset strings hanging half-undone. He kissed hungrily, biting her lip hard enough to break the skin. She bit back defiantly, but licked his blood away with gentle care. He jerked away from her, angry tonight. His yellow eyes shone, dull and glassy.

"You bore me." Despite his tone, his voice shook slightly. She could tell he was in pain, had tasted the iron in his kiss.

"Nephamael," she breathed, burying her face in his hair. He detached himself from her and vanished without a backward glance or parting word, his footfalls quietly echoing down the hall.

When they were finished, Nephamael would never allow her to sigh against him, to whisper into his neck as she wished to. Once sated, he would leave immediately, refusing to linger in her arms.

He would be cruel, even to her. Sometimes, he would jest that her company did not satisfy, that the only reason he deigned to please her was that she was his queen and he wished to rule someone higher. At least she thought he was in jest. Hoped.

At times she even liked it when he spoke to her that way, as if he didn't want her. She wondered if it was just a harshly flirtatious game, or if he was truly sincere about it. He pleased her well, at any rate. His cold approach encouraged her heat.

Now, she ached for him.


End file.
